the birds that they were averse to having this melodious chorus interrupted by the shrieking of locomotives. This, by the way, was not an unusual attitude among the people of rural communities at that time. Life consisted of a comfortable routine, and there was a charm about these isolated towns that made a powerful appeal to the finer feelings. The streets, as a rule, were bordered by giant oaks, whose wide-flung branches met and intertwined above the driveway. Old-fashioned gardens, sweet with the odor of tube roses, jessamine and honeysuckle, and bright with varigated colors, flanked the way, and peace brooded above them like a benediction. Conservatives were content, and cared not for the clarion call of the steel highway.
Another factor which entered into the opposition which existed to the building of railroads, was found in the fact that these highways threatened the life of established industries. Their coming meant the passing of profitable stagecoach lines, of wagon trains, which transported freight from city to hamlet, and the passing of these enterprises meant serious injury to sundry little industries. The blacksmith, the wheelwright and the wagon-builder felt their enter-enterprises menaced, and these and kindred spirits exercised no little influence upon public thought. This explains why so many small communities in the South are ''off the railroad," to the great satisfaction of sundry dusky hack-drivers, but to the great annoyance of the traveling public. But all this changed long ago, and for years projected railroads have been able to collect handsome bonuses for stretching their lines through ambitious communities.
With the coming of the railroads to ''Terminus" came shops and people to work in them, and stores and dwellings began to appear, creating a demand for building materials, and with this demand came brick works, sash and door factories and kindred enterprises — and saloons. The future city was under way.
The logic which brought the first railroad to what is now Atlanta, held good in the development of the community, which in the course of time became known as "The Gate City of the South," an appellation due to its strategic position. The time came when, fanwise, railroads stretched to all parts of the South, with Atlanta as a starting point, and goods flowing from the North and East into that wide and fertile territory, passed through Atlanta.
Pioneers foresaw the possibilities that the future held out for the establishment here of a great distributing center, and from the first the community attracted the most ambitious and farseeing type of citizens, an element whose efforts in community building could not be thwarted by the less constructive activities of another element, quick to put in appearance, which could be identified by its shiny elbows — due to frequent contact with the bar and the gambling table.
The struggle between the constructive and loose elements began almost with the beginning of the town, and while the initial clash might be termed something of a dog-fall, the final outcome remained in doubt for only a limited period. In an election held in 1850, when the issue between the two contending forces was clear-cut and decisive, the better element of the community scored a decisive victory, and from then on the power of the gambling and drinking class began to wane.
In this notable contest, the better element organized as the "Moral Party," and put a ticket in the field headed by Jonathan Norcross. The opposition met the challenge boldly, and came forth to battle with an organization which they frankly named the "Rowdy Party." This organization threw its support to L. C. Simpson, a lawyer, who had come out in opposition to Norcross.
A fervid and spectacular campaign culminated in the triumph of the " Moral Party" ticket, and Mayor Norcross entered upon the duties of his office prepared to uphold the standards of the element which elected him, but it was no easy task. The opposition, though beaten, was not ready to curl up and die, and it continued to make things as disagreeable as possible. The lawless couldn't believe that the old, happy-go-lucky, do-as-you-please, days were at an end, and they decided at once to test the intent as well as the mettle of the new administration. As a consequence. Mayor Norcross found official life just "one thing after another." His duties involved much more than delivering welcome addresses to visiting conventions and making after-dinner speeches. He was chief of police, judge of the police court, street superintendent and general utility man for the municipality.
The new mayor had been in office only a short time when a truculent and overgrown member of the minority party decided to show the town that the victory of the straight-laced element meant nothing in his gay career. With this end in view, he went on a rampage which finally brought him up in the mayor's court, where he waited in contemptuous silence while the prosecution presented its case. He declined to dignify the proceedings by offering a defense, but when the evidence was in and the Mayor rendered a verdict of "guilty" he came to life with a jerk.
Springing to his feet, the prisoner drew what appeared to be a cross between a dagger and a sword, and brandishing this wicked weapon he defied any and everyone in the courtroom to lay hands upon him.
The little room in which the trial was held was jammed with people, the news having gotten abroad that a test of the new order was to be staged, and when the prisoner produced this fearful looking weapon and roared his challenge to the minions of the law, there was a spontaneous rush for the exit. But there were several officers present to whom the sight of weapons was no new thing, and who could not be cowed by any such demonstration. Allen E. Johnson, sheriff of the county, leaped forward with upraised walking stick, and dealt the prisoner a blow upon the hand that sent the weapon flying across the room. William McConnell, town marshal, Ben N. Willford, deputy marshal, and C. H. Strong, a spectator, immediately fell upon the desperado and a hand-to-hand fight followed. The man finally was overpowered, but upon being carried to the street managed to make his escape, darkness having fallen while the trial was in progress.
The spirit of desperation and of contempt for law shown by this individual but reflected the attitude of the lower element of the community, and his exploit proved the spark which set aflame the ill-subdued spirit of lawlessness, and brought about a deeply significant struggle which was to determine whether or not Atlanta was to be run by the honest. God-fearing people, or by the rowdies who knew not law and feared not God.
Within forty-eight hours after the incident in the court-room, the seething unrest among the lawless found expression in a definite movement to rid the community of the man who stood for and represented the law. The rough element obtained a small cannon at Decatur, and bringing it into the village of Atlanta, they mounted it in front of the general store operated by Mayor Norcross. Loading it with dirt, behind which there was a heavy charge of powder, they fired the weapon, the blast echoing up and down the narrow, star-lit streets, and creating great alarm.
This noisy demonstration was followed with a specific notice to Mayor Norcross that if he did not resign and leave the town at once, his store would be blown to atoms, and the menacing attitude of the mob left no room for doubt as to its sincerity. Thus the issue was pressed home.
Mayor Norcross quietly withdrew from the presence of the mob, but it was, not to run. On the other hand, he resolved to break the mob spirit or die in the attempt. To this end, he secretly got in touch with law-abiding citizens and before midnight a volunteer police force of approximately one hundred men had been formed and was ready for battle.
Meanwhile the mob had been growing in numbers, being assembled at a house on Decatur Street. About midnight this house was charged by a squad of citizen police, led by A. W. Mitchell, who in later years came to play a prominent part in the life of the community.
So thoroughly had the forces of law and order been organized by Mayor Norcross that the mob seemed to realize the futility of combat, and no sooner had their rendezvous been surrounded than there was a wild scramble to escape. However, about twenty members were caught and these were conveyed in triumph to the little "calaboose" which constituted the city's bastille at that time. As it was not large enough to hold all the prisoners, it was decided to lock up the leaders and let the followers go. This was done, and on the following morning when the prisoners were carried into court and given the extreme penalty of the law, they took their medicine and the question of what element should rule in Atlanta was settled. The victory was not complete, as there were sporadic outbreaks from time to time, and for a number of years the roughs kept the officers busy, but at no time thereafter did the idea gain ground that Atlanta could be governed and controlled by the element that